


Isn't That What It's All About?

by ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, It's a mixed bag folks, Loss, Mourning, Spoilers up through EP 174, also none of this is particularly shippy, azu/kiko - Freeform, but idk what those are really, but it can be read as, but it's a What Happens Next, cel/barnes, check notes for content warnings, it's sad, mostly - Freeform, not a prediction for next episode necessarily, this fic is just brought to you by the song Theseus, this is also kind of a song fic, will be jossed by next week, your miles may vary, zolf/wilde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27398824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand/pseuds/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand
Summary: In the wake of the crash, they mourn. It seems there is no hope left, until suddenly there is.
Relationships: Azu/Kiko (Rusty Quill Gaming), Commander James Barnes & Howard Carter (Rusty Quill Gaming), Commander James Barnes/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Draal, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan and The Kobolds, Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 16
Kudos: 23





	1. Ain't Nothing Come Easy, No, Nothing Comes Quick

**Author's Note:**

> CW: obviously, spoilers up through EP 174: Impact. additionally, there is some description of injury (not very graphic). this deals Very Heavily with loss, grief and mourning, as well as the deaths that occurred during 174. there is also *a permadeath* in this fic, so please be mindful of that going in, if you are sensitive to the possibility of death without resurrection/revival. there is also discussion of guilt (particularly survivor's guilt), and some anxiety/panic.
> 
> This fic is rough, please take care of yourselves, folks. If there's something I missed, please let me know. Be gentle with yourselves. I love you all. <3
> 
> also, the second chapter of this is DONE and should be up sometime tomorrow. just need to run through a couple more edits when it isn't 1am.
> 
> title and lyrics at the beginning of each chapter are from Theseus by The Oh Hellos. please listen to this song. it's tearing me apart thinking about it along with RQG characters.

_Whatever kingdom come, it probably won't come quick_  
_No mighty clarion to announce it_  
_No single use ark to discard in an instant_  
_Like Theseus's ship, we'll fix the busted bits_

* * *

Hamid collapses in the snow beside the bodies of Sassraa and Meerk, attempting to pull them closer to him. He wants to hold them, he wants to _help_ , he wants to _fix this_. But they’re gone, and he’s not much bigger than they are and his arms aren’t big enough to hold both of them and he can’t just hold one of them how could he _possibly choose?_ As this realization hits him, Hamid lets go of the kobolds and curls in on himself instead, sitting in between the two bodies, hugging his knees to his chest and letting out a broken sob. The other kobolds join him, circling around their fallen family, though Skraak continues to examine the perimeters of the little camp they’ve set up. Hamid cries until his sorrow gives way to exhaustion, and then he merely sits, head tucked between his knees, and breathes and grieves and mourns his friends.

He knows this is his fault. The kobolds are here because of him. They came for him, they followed _him_. He has no right to pretend to be a friend to them anymore. Two of their family members are dead, and they’re still in grave danger. He has lead them to their deaths. Hamid takes a shaky breath, trying to calm himself out of the panic that is rising in his throat. As he inhales a second breath, he feels a clawed hand settle on his shoulder. He snaps his head up, eyes wide and ready to take in whatever threat he is being alerted to, but he sees only Draal, who draws his hand back and tucks it in close to his chest. Their eyes are filled with fear and grief, and it takes everything Hamid has not to burst into tears again, to swallow down his own pain and grief, and say instead, “Draal? Are you alright?”

The kobold shuffles their feet, and their eyes flick up to Hamid’s for a brief moment before shutting tight, brow furrowed in pain and resignation. “Why… Why me?”

Hamid starts, “I… I’m not sure what you mean, Draal.”

The kobold’s eyes snap open, suddenly filled with fire and rage, masking the pain that had been there a moment before as they repeat, “ _Why. Me?_ You. Saved. Me. _Not them. Why?”_

As the kobold’s mouth snaps shut with a click of their teeth, Hamid feels his heart plummet in his chest. “Oh.”

Draal’s hands clench into fists, their claws flexing and scraping against their scales, but they do not say anything. They’re waiting now, for Hamid to say his piece. For Hamid to explain why, when all of their lives were endangered, Hamid saved _them_. Why Hamid decided their life was more valuable than that of their family members. Why it isn’t _their_ body laid out in the snow instead of Sassraa’s, or Meerk’s. Hamid is suddenly choking back tears again, and he whispers, “I don’t know. I couldn’t save all of you but- but you were the closest to me. It- it wasn’t a _choice_ , Draal, I- I’m sorry. I don’t have an answer for you. I didn’t _choose_ you it just- it just happened. I wanted to save _all_ of you. I wanted you _all_ to be okay. I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry_.”

Hamid watches Draal process everything he’s just said, and the kobold nods their head resolutely, before returning to the outer edges of the circle, and settling down to sit with their remaining family, so they can mourn the ones they’ve lost together.

* * *

Azu watches Hamid return to where the bodies have been laid out, and scans the small camp, taking in everyone who remains trying to find tasks to keep themselves occupied, try to help regain some sense of order and normalcy in the wake of the crash. She can see Kiko wandering, gathering any salvageable supplies that were thrown from the ship’s deck into the powdery snow. Azu moves toward her, feeling a pull like gravity as her heart floods with relief. When Kiko sees her coming, she puts down the barrel she’d been carrying and comes over, immediately wrapping Azu in a tight hug.

Azu leans into the embrace, returning it with a tight squeeze of her own, before pulling away a bit to say, “Hi.”

Kiko lets out a breathy laugh. “Hey.”

She pulls away, but takes a hold of Azu’s hand, tugging her gently over to where a fire has been started, and some tables and chairs set up. They sit together, close enough for their shoulders to brush. Neither of them speak for a little while, just lean against each other and stare quietly at the flickering flames. Azu notices after a few minutes that Kiko never let go of her hand, and she squeezes gently, before turning to face Kiko and asking, “Are you… alright?”

Kiko smiles weakly, “I mean… Not really? But, yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. You?”

Azu returns the smile as much as she can muster, “Yeah, I… Yeah. I’m okay. This… It’s a lot, but… We’re going to be okay, we’re going to figure this out and we’re going to make it. I have to believe that.”

Kiko squeezes her hand and lifts it, bringing it up to gently press her lips to the back of Azu’s palm. “I’m glad you’re safe, Azu. I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

Azu feels her breath leave her, and she pulls her hand away gently so she can wrap an arm around Kiko and pull the woman to her chest. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to Kiko’s forehead, before tilting her head to rest on top of Kiko’s. Kiko nuzzles gently into her shoulder as Azu whispers back, “I’m glad you’re here, too. I’m so happy that you’re safe, and that you’re still here with me.”

* * *

Zolf keeps himself busy. Zolf keeps himself occupied, moving purposefully from task to task until eventually he finds himself… drifting. Slowing down as he runs out of places to run to, runs out of urgent things that need attending to. He slows down until suddenly he is stopped, standing by the body of Oscar Wilde. He looks down at Wilde, grateful for whoever thought to put a blanket over the body to cover how broken, how ruined and _wrecked_ it is. Most of the group has settled down, and many have gravitated towards their loved ones that have been laid out. Hamid and the kobolds lay beside the bodies of Sassraa and Meerk. Cel has gone with Barnes to sit beside Carter.

There isn’t anyone that has gone to sit with Wilde, to mourn him. Zolf supposes this makes sense. Wilde wasn’t exactly a favorite on the ship, really only he and Hamid _knew_ Wilde well enough to mourn him _truly_. Maybe Earhart, but her relationship with Wilde wasn’t exactly _amicable_. Zolf takes a shaky breath and sits down beside Wilde, huddling in on himself and staring somewhat blankly at the ground. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s not sure if there’s anything he _can_ say. Not like it matters, anyway. Wilde’s gone. He can’t hear Zolf anymore. He looks at Wilde’s face, and he’s surprised that even with the extent of his injuries, Wilde still looks peaceful. His face carries none of the trauma that was inflicted on the rest of his body, shows no sign of the weight that Wilde has been carrying for years now. He looks restful. Like he’s finally found some peace. But maybe that’s just what Zolf wants to be true. He thinks of Wilde, whistling to himself as he steers the ship, how Zolf had pulled him down, smirking and _teasing_ , “It’s good to see you cheered up.”

He’d meant that. The last two years had been _so hard_ , and Wilde had been with him through almost all of it. Had gone through it all and _more_ , more that Zolf had never even known, and had still found a glimmer of happiness again. It had given Zolf hope, too. It had made _him_ happy, too. Made him feel like, maybe if Wilde was getting better, if Wilde was healing, he would, too. If Wilde could be happy, so could he. But now Wilde is gone, and Zolf will never know if Wilde could’ve been happy again. He’ll have to settle for the fact that there was a _chance_ , and the imprint of this gentle expression on Wilde’s face as some shoddy comfort that, after being broken and torn apart, he might have finally found some peace. It is not enough, but there is nothing else left. 

* * *

After Barnes has been healed as much as they can manage, he goes and sits beside the body of Carter. Cel follows, sitting beside him. “I know no one ‘round here liked ‘im, and he _was_ a pain the ass, but… but he was my friend, y’know? And… And I didn’t really think he was going to _die_.”

Cel makes a sympathetic noise. This is their fault, all of the bodies are here because they failed. They didn’t make the ship strong enough, there wasn’t enough to resist the wild magic that flows throughout these lands. Maybe if they’d just done _better_ , maybe if they’d tried _harder_ , pushed a little bit further, all their friends would still be alive. They’ve spent years trying to atone for their mistakes, but sometimes it seems like all they do is keep making _more_ , add _more_ apologies to the list of reparations they can never truly make. But they also know saying that won’t help right now. This isn’t a burden they can share with anyone else. This isn’t a problem they can expect anyone else to fix. They can’t add to anyone else’s pain when they’re the one that caused it all in the first place.

“He just- he deserved better than this, y’know?” Barnes hunches in on himself, one hand pressed to the scar healing over on his side.

Cel reaches out slowly, and places a hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t your fault, y’know, it was an accident. And there was nothing you could do. You did what you could, and that was _survive_. Sometimes… Sometimes that’s all you can do. Sometimes things are going to go wrong, and sometimes people are going to get hurt. You’re going to get hurt, too, and all you can do is make sure that you don’t get hurt too badly. And that has to be enough. It has to be, because there’s nothing else we can do. And then, when it’s all over, we have to stick around to pick up the pieces, and we have to do our best to keep things together for the people who aren’t here anymore to help us,” their voice is quiet, and when Barnes reaches up to cover their hand with his own, Cel can almost pretend that the words they’ve said are true. They seem true enough for Barnes, at least, and that’s something. Maybe it’s enough. It has to be.

Barnes holds their hand, and Cel scoots a little closer, squeezing his hand in turn, and running their thumb over his knuckles. This is their fault, and they can’t fix it, but they _can_ be here, now. They can sit here with Barnes while he mourns his friend, be there for him when he starts to weep silently beside the body of a man they barely knew. And Cel will be there when the woman arrives, when she tells them that she can help, that she has brought people who can help them, and that there might be a way to fix all of this. And Cel can’t fix the mistakes they’ve made, can’t even begin to heal the hurt that the day’s events have caused, but maybe, just maybe, this woman can set some things right. Maybe, if Cel lets them help, they’ll get another chance to prove themself, and they won’t mess up this time.


	2. It's Gonna Hurt Like Hell to Become Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are people here to help, now. Maybe there is a way to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains further description of injury, guilt, panic, and grief, as well as permadeath. please take care of yourselves! 
> 
> whatever happens next week, we'll be ok. I believe in that if nothing else. <3<3<3 be safe, be gentle, be kind.

_Maybe that's what it's all about_   
_We keep fixing what we know is only bound to break_   
_What's worth saving is never worth letting go to waste_   
_I want to mend what I've got, instead of throwing away_

* * *

When the woman arrives with her companions, the small groups who have gathered around the bodies shift to allow them room. They start with the kobolds, the two tiny and broken bodies curled in the snow, surrounded by Hamid and their families. The kobolds make space, but Hamid remains seated in between Sassraa and Meerk, looking on helplessly as the newcomers attempt to revive them. He sits between them, watching nervously as these strangers work their strange magic, clutching his fists which have turned into claws that dig into his palms like daggers.

When Sassraa gasps a stuttering inhale, Hamid sobs. Hamid sobs, and smiles, and laughs, and watches as the kobolds close in, clutching Sassraa to them and cooing, speaking all at once with concern and relief and joy and _so many emotions_ that Hamid can feel pouring off of them in waves. _Alive, you’re alive, you’re alive._

And then, just when he thinks his heart can’t break any more, Meerk splutters to life behind him. Meerk splutters and coughs and clutches at their side where there is still a significant gash torn into their scales, but they’re _alive_. They’re _both alive_ , they made it. They’re going to be okay. The healers could not heal all their wounds, they will both be scarred, and there will likely be a long road to a full recovery, but they have a chance now.

They are alive, and they will _heal_.

* * *

There is a man who comes to attend to Carter. Barnes looks on blearily as he studies the body, assessing where the worst of the internal damage was done. Cel squeezes Barnes’s hand gently as his breath goes shaky, waiting in anticipation for his friend to be revived. Cel turns and wraps Barnes in a fierce hug when the man looks up with somber eyes, shakes his head, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Cel holds Barnes as he begins to weep, runs their fingers through his hair, rubs soothing circles into his back has he shakes with sobs and grief and pain. Cel says what gentle words they can, provides what comfort they can. It is all they can do. It is all they can do to tuck away their own sorrow, hide away their fears and guilt, and ease the burden on the others however they can. They will take whatever pain, whatever grief they must from the others, because they know they are the only one who deserves to feel this. And they _will_ feel it. They will tuck the feeling away somewhere behind their ribcage, and they will hold that pain there and let it fester and claw at them from the inside out. They will ache with it for as long as it takes until they are the only one left with the marks of what this day has brought upon them. They will spend the rest of their life taking this pain away from their friends, bit by bit, carrying it themself instead. They will carry the memories of this day until its weight in their chest is as light as the touch of their fingers as they card them through Barnes’s hair.

* * *

When the people come to see to Wilde, Zolf feels something shift in his chest. It feels almost like hope, and his heart is pulsing and brushing against the edges of his ribcage with it. He can hardly breathe as the two women move around Wilde’s body, performing whatever magic they can to heal his broken body and bring him back from wherever he has gone. For a moment, as they work, he looks up to find Earhart. She has come to sit stiffly on the other side of Wilde, her hands clenched on her thighs, and the dazed look in her eyes makes him ache. This wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to end like this. But now, maybe it won’t have to. When their eyes meet, she simply nods, sets her jaw, and returns her attention to the body between them.

Zolf thinks he stops breathing for a moment, as the women stop their ministrations, clearly _waiting_ to see if their work has done enough. But then, as Wilde’s eyes _fly_ open and he heaves in a massive breath, Zolf shatters. Zolf lurches forward, clutching Wilde’s hand in his own and he thinks there might be tears streaming down his face, he might be sobbing or laughing he cannot tell which and he does not _care_. Wilde is still _gravely_ injured, but he’s alive and he’s _breathing_ and Zolf feels all of his grief scatter like snowflakes into the icy breeze. He lets out something between a laugh and a sob, clutching Wilde’s hand so hard he’s surprised his fingers haven’t snapped, and leans forward, pressing the hand clasped between his own to his forehead and trying to steady his breathing.

Wilde inhales a rattling breath, and exhales something that might be a laugh. His voice is _so soft_ , but Zolf doesn’t miss the teasing in it when he rasps out, “Look at _you…_ Being- such a sap.”

Zolf feels every muscle in his body turn to ice, and he freezes at the sound of Wilde’s voice and it hits him fully that he’s _back._ He’s back and he’s _Wilde_ and _gods they almost lost him,_ how could they lose him? He releases Wilde’s hand, and lurches to wrap Wilde in his arms. His voice is sharp and _angry_ , but he does his best not to jostle Wilde’s worse injuries as he gathers the fool in his arms and snaps, “ _No. No, don’t you_ ** _dare_** _. You don’t get to do that right now, Wilde. You don’t get to_ ** _tease_** _me you_ ** _died_**. You don’t _get_ to pretend like everything’s _fine_ right now because it’s _not_. You- I- gods, Wilde, I- you-“ Zolf himself off with a broken noise and he feels Wilde stiffen beneath him, “You were _gone_. You were so gone that I didn’t even stop to- I didn’t even _try. I didn’t try to bring you back._ You were _gone_.”

He clutches Wilde to him, sobbing and _angry_ and _guilty_ because he’d just- he’d _moved on_. He hadn’t let himself feel this. He’d seen the body- _Wilde’s_ body- and known there was nothing he could do. And he’d just moved on. He hadn’t felt _anything_. He hadn’t let himself. He saw the body of his _best friend_ torn to pieces and impaled on the ship, and he’d _walked away_. What if he’d- could he have saved Wilde? If these people brought him back then maybe… Maybe he could’ve- he pulls Wilde closer, sobbing into his shoulder, and lets himself feel it for the first time all day. His friends died. They lost good people today. He’d seen Barnes sobbing into Cel’s shoulder, Carter wasn’t coming back. Wilde, by some miracle, did. He doesn’t know what magic granted him this, this chance- this hope. But it breaks him to know that it might have been _right there_ and he’d missed it. That he could’ve missed it completely, if these people hadn’t shown up and offered their assistance.

As he sobs into Wilde’s shoulder, face buried in his hair, his _impossibly_ soft hair, he feels two arms wrap around him in turn. He feels them squeeze, weakly, gently, and Wilde whispers, “I’m sorry.”

This startles a proper laugh out of Zolf, and he pulls away, scrubbing the tears from his face. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, you big idiot. I’m just… I’m glad you’re back. We aren’t finished yet, you and me.”

He moves back to give Wilde some space to breathe, but Wilde reaches a hand out and takes Zolf’s hand in his own. Zolf clutches at the offered hand, still shaking slightly from adrenaline and relief. Wilde lays his head back on the ground, but does not pull his hand away as he turns his head slightly towards Earhart. “Must’ve been bad if _you_ came to sit with me,” he tries for snark, and Amelia scoffs quietly.

He attempts to smirk at her, but she just scoots a little closer and takes his other hand. “It’s good to see you back, Wilde. Get some rest, and get better. There’s people around here that need you,” she says, looking pointedly over at Zolf. “Take care of him. I’m going to make the rounds and check on the others.”

Zolf nods, and returns his attention to Wilde, who looks like he’s just on the edge of consciousness. They sit in silence for a long moment, and Zolf thinks Wilde might have drifted off when he says, “It’s not your fault, Zolf. You did the right thing.”

Zolf lets out a bitter laugh, as dry as the icy wind that blows through their camp. “I don’t think I did _anything_ right, Wilde.”

Wilde’s voice is still soft, and shuddering with pain, but there is an underlying firmness and resolve as he continues. “You did what you could. I was gone, and there were people who needed you. You saved the people you _could_.”

“But I couldn’t save _you_ ,” Zolf snaps, his voice breaking on the last word. He takes a shuddering breath and whispers, “I couldn’t save you.”

Wilde’s fingers tighten around his own for a moment, thumb brushing over the back of his palm. “I’m not that important, Zolf. You saved everyone you could, and you made sure the mission wouldn’t fail. That’s what matters. That’s _all_ that matters.”

_“The mission isn’t more important to_ ** _me_** _, Wilde,”_ Zolf barks. “I’m tired of pretending that it _is_. I’m tired of pretending like- like none of it _matters_ so long as we save the _world_ or whatever the _hell_ we’re trying to do out here. I want _this_ to matter. I want _us_ to matter, too. Because like it or not you _do._ You _do matter, Wilde_ , to me especially. And I _lost you_. And I’m _so tired_ of pretending like it doesn’t hurt to lose people, like I can just _not care_ about everyone that’s worked _so hard_ to get us where we are. I _do care_ , Wilde, and I know you do, too. And I’m too tired to pretend anymore.”

The fight drains out of him, then, and he scrubs at his face, wiping away the tears that have begun to fall again. Wilde shifts his hand so their fingers are intertwined, and his eyes shine as he takes a slow, measured breath, and says, “Ok.”

“Ok?” Zolf repeats, blinking.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” Wilde sighs, and though Zolf can see he’s fighting for consciousness he grips Zolf’s hand just a little tighter. “Not to me. Not anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me sobbing over @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile on tumblr.


End file.
